


Those Goddamn Oysters

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: Oswald's bad experiences with Jim never happened. In fact, they are very happily married. That other stuff are merely hallucinations he experienced thanks to some food poisoning. And TV. Always blame TV.





	Those Goddamn Oysters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekeyholder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/gifts).



> Nothing about this is to be taken seriously. This is Crack I typed on my phone after a very nice conversation on Tumblr with an awesome human being who definitely deserves something better. But alas.

Those goddamn oysters! 

Jim curses each and every seafood in existence when steadying Oswald’s scrawny body. Here he is, the proud King of Gotham, emptying the contents of his stomach into Jim’s already clogged sink. 

He makes a gurgling sound as his eyes roll almost backwards into his head. “Gridn,” he croaks desperately while clutching Jim’s shirt in a death-grip, rumpling the already tattered fabric. The shirt is anyway beyond salvation, what with all these half-digested oysters, caviar and lobsters staining it.

The Captain of the GCPD pats his personal mobster awkwardly on the back while brushing his sweat-sodden hair out his face. By now he’s himself fighting back the urge to gag with sheer determination - and maybe a tad bit of smugness. 

Serves him right, Jim thinks when picking him up bridal-style and carrying him over to the shower. He had warned him. The moment Jim had laid his eyes on these disgusting oysters he had known there was something off with them. 

Would the megalomaniac criminal in his arms ever listen? The answer is, of course, a big “Hell No” complete with capitals but the point still stands: that wasn’t necessary. 

Hours earlier, Jim had been examining the decadent seafood-buffet wearily with Oswald bouncing excitedly beside him on his one good leg. The cop had seen right through it. After all, nobody would eat a heck-ton of oysters if he wasn’t an incorrigible show-off. 

“Are these from Gotham harbor?” Jim had asked, eyes narrowing at the sight before him. 

“Why sure!” the mobster answered, eyes glistening merrily. “Absolutely fresh and delicious!” 

“You probably know better than me how many bodies drift in that water than me,” the cop commented drily, wisely reaching for bread and cheese instead.

Sure, Oswald Cobblepot loves luxury, tailored suits, hand-made shoes made from ostrich-leather, and platinum-cufflinks, but when it comes to food, the Penguin’s favorite is a bucket of - lo and behold - fried chicken. Best eaten in front of the TV, with his feet in Jim’s lap. 

Not that fancy shit. That, according to Jim, even tastes like shit - just worse. 

And now he is practically cluttered in seafood. Rancid seafood. 

“Married,” Oswald moans, convulsing again and Jim curses through gritted teeth when more of that disgusting substance lands on him. 

“Yes, we are married,” he agrees, starting the shower running and peeling both their clothes off. 

“No, no,” he screeches frantically in return. “You are married.”

Jim sighs. He fuckin knows he’s married. Thank you very much. How could he ever forget? Harvey almost personally sent him to Arkham Asylum when he asked him to be his best man. And no, Jim isn’t kidding on that one. 

“Lee,” the gangster squeaks. “You left me for Lee?” The Penguin, the one man all of Gotham fears, stares up at Jim through his long, feathery lashes, lips trembling slightly with a tear rolling down his cheek. 

The cop scoffs. He isn’t immune to jealousy either but really...burying someone alive while Gotham sinks in chaos and infecting them with a deadly disease that messes up one’s mind is a quite effective way to kill any remaining feelings one might harbor for another person. 

Rubbing spastic circles between Oswald’s shoulderblades he mumbles, “I’m right there,” wondering how a multiple murderer sometimes rather resembles a small, distressed animal. 

Finally, the Penguin stopped retching his guts out and Jim can finally stop the shower. Heaving a sigh of relief, he wraps him up in a big, fluffy towel and carries him over to his bedroom. 

Despite cranking the heating up to its maximum and two extra blankets, the mobster in his bed won’t stop shivering. After managing to give him some water, Jim falls into an uneasy sleep with his arms wrapped around the gangster. 

That is until he wakes in the middle of the night with an enraged Penguin sitting atop of him. Even in the dim light room, he sees his husband’s eyes glinting furiously as he wraps his thin hands tightly around his throat - or well, whatever passes as tightly in his current state. 

“You are pregnant!” he hisses frenziedly and Jim is pretty certain he lost his mind. 

“Not quite possible,” he chokes out in return, voice strained thanks to the pressure on his carotid. 

“Not you,” the mobster growls, screwing up his face in the exact same way he always does right before stabbing someone. Jim is glad his cane is far, far away. 

“Thought so,” he snaps back. “It’s not quite possible.”

“You fucked Barbara,” the mobster blurts out, increasing the pressure on his throat and Jim has had quite enough. Swiftly turning over, he wrestles his tyrannic husband off his chest and pins him down against the mattress. 

“Every time,” he growls, patience running thin. “Every time you get a fever or get poisoned or you inhale some of Ivy’s perfumes, you confuse me with that moron from the TV show Batman. I may resemble that idiot on the show, but I certainly did not leave you in Arkham, banged my lunatic ex, had an affair with a female version of you, or married a woman who buried me alive.”

Huffing, Jim wraps his arms around his husband again, vowing to sue the producers of that TV show first thing tomorrow morning. How dare they turning their life into an even bigger circus it already is?


End file.
